


One of the Few Things

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Time, Intimacy, Porn with Feelings, Set in the vague future, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: They've had the conversation and they're both committed, but there's been a disconnect Yasha can't put her finger on. Things between them have changed for certain - Beau is able to be more direct with what she needs from Yasha, and Yasha in turn can ask her harder questions without fearing she'll push too far.It's just a matter of finding the right questions to ask, and Yasha hadn't fully realized how specific Beau needed her to be.But oh, once they've got it.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 19
Kudos: 190





	1. But I So Confidently Want You

**Author's Note:**

> The soft smut's gonna be in chapter 2. I just need to finish polishing.

Yasha's beginning to wonder if she misunderstood something. She'd written the letter, and then she'd given it to Beau - not because she needed a reply, not because she expected anything, just because Beau needed to know.

She hadn't dared to place her hope any further than that, not really. That could have been the end, and Yasha would have been satisfied.

And then Beau had replied, weeks later, stammering and flushed but oh so sincere, and Yasha had said the words out loud that she had been saying between the lines: _I want you, and I am yours_. It's the surest thing she's maybe ever said, one of the surest she's ever felt, and she still does.

But it's been a week and Beau still jumps when Yasha touches her unexpectedly. Still looks vaguely puzzled, if pleased, when Yasha kisses her, and now they're here in the bath after a rare day of not much at all, and Beau is looking up at her like she's asked a question.

Which, Yasha realizes a beat later, is because she has. She runs the words back through her memory and this time gets the meaning of them. "The blue ones," she answers. "I haven't seen them in years, and rarely outside of the wastes, but they were delicious. Kind of…crackly, but the whole thing, flavor and all. Not just the shell."

"Huh," says Beau. "Never seen a blue beetle."

Yasha grins. "It is possible I ate them all."

"Rude," Beau huffs in mock aggravation, and there's a _moment_. Yasha feels it. Here's where she'd lean over and kiss Beau on the temple because she is adorable when she's pretending to be mad and Yasha can do that now, just reach for her after so long.

Yasha's not imagining it - Beau is even angled in towards her, but she hesitates. "Can I kiss you?"

The automatic answer that springs to Yasha's mind takes an immediate backseat to the implications of the question, so the words that come of out of her are "why do you feel like you need to ask?" Beau blinks. Yasha kicks herself mentally. "That's a yes," she adds, and Beau laughs a little as she pulls in close to lean on Yasha but doesn't make good on the request.

"I hear you," she says. "I just. I never want to assume or move too quickly, in case I…" She frowns. "I'm yours," she says simply. "We do what you want." Yasha remembers how her heart thrilled to hear those words from Beau a week ago, but that's what's confusing: they already had this conversation.

So what is Yasha missing?

She peers at Beau. "What does that mean for you?"

Beau's head tilts just a little, like she's starting to wonder if she's missed something. "It means that whatever you want, I'm here," she says. "To take it slow, to fuck like rabbits, have a cup of hot chocolate, even feelings if you wanna hear 'em." She shrugs. "I'm not great at making them into words, but you know that."

There's no new information here. Yasha's _still_ missing something. "I want you," she says, and this time she puts emphasis on it and watches Beau carefully. Something flashes across her face, and Yasha seizes on it in her mind. "Are you okay with that?"

Beau looks incredulous, but not at all uncomfortable. "Guh…I mean obviously, I think that's kind of the give and take here, that's. I think that's how it works."

She pauses thoughtfully, and Yasha's stomach turns over. She knows that look. Something's coming.

Beau's last words come out slowly. "I just don't know what that means." 

Yasha spends several seconds trying to make those words make sense. How could she not know? "You just explained it," Yasha says. "The…go slow, fuck like rabbits, all of it. That's me too." They're so close to being on the same page that she can almost feel a thread between them, wishes she knew what muscle or word to use to dissolve it.

"Sure," says Beau, and she reaches behind her to rub at her tattoo. "I just don't want to presume too much, as far as knowing what you're looking for from me." She smiles at Yasha. "I don't mind taking my time to figure it out with you though. It's really okay."

Ah.

"You're not sure what I'm looking for," Yasha repeats. 

"Yeah," Beau says easily. "I know this is all new for you too. In a different direction. I mean, I know what I want because I grew up having to - or else someone else would tell me what I wanted, and I'm not about that." She shrugs. "I wanna help you figure it out, not tell you what I think it should be."

"You need me to tell you?"

She has Beau's full attention now. "You mean you know?"

The water sloshes as Yasha sits up straighter and turns to face Beau directly. "I have known for a long time," she says. "Before the letter, before I caught you on Rumblecusp and spent the next week wishing I'd kissed you. I would not have told you I want you and that I am yours if I didn't know exactly what that meant."

Beau's eyes are clear and fathomlessly dark. "I need you to tell me what that means for you, Yash. A lot of people have wanted me for a lot of reasons my entire life. The fact that you're not like them…I know you don't keep me around just because I'm useful, but I don't know what else to fill the blank with."

Yasha is reeling a little, and a small, incredulous laugh makes its way out of her. "I'm sorry," she says, even though Beau's face doesn't change at the sound. "I just…there's so much I'm not sure of, but you? I am so certain of you that it's hard for me to understand that it needs spelling out."

Yasha can see her arms wrapping around her knees under the water- not defensiveness, intrigue. "Tell me."

"I want you," Yasha begins immediately. There's no need to hesitate. She's already said this. Elaborating doesn't change it. "I want you in every possible way, but more than anything I want to be yours to take apart."

Beau blinks. "How?"

"You see me just as clearly as I see you," Yasha replies. "We've been doing that without trying for a long time, and I want you to see me now on purpose, because you let me show you. Because you want me to show you." She leans in, voice earnest. "I want to be yours, Beau, every part of me, forever. And I want you to want the same." Beau looks absolutely stunned, but Yasha knows enough to understand the difference between a good stun and the tension before Beau's walls come up - and Beau wouldn't have asked Yasha something like this if she'd thought she would react defensively.

So Yasha trusts her, and she waits.

"Oh," says Beau finally. Her voice cracks on just that one word.

Yasha reaches for her hand in the water, and Beau takes it on reflex without jumping.

Something slots in place inside of Yasha. "Is that okay?" she asks, because there's no room for error here.

Beau looks at her, and then her eyes are glistening, soft tears welling up and threatening to spill. Instead of turning away, Beau leans on Yasha's chest to breathe deeply. Warmth explodes in Yasha. _This is correct_.

"I just need a minute," Beau chokes.

Yasha brings up her other arm to hold her close, squeezes her hand. "I admit this is closer to the sort of reaction I expected, when we finally talked about this."

Beau's breath explodes a little as she laughs, hot on Yasha's collarbone. "Sorry to disappoint," she says, but she doesn't mean it so Yasha doesn't pursue it.

Instead she kisses the top of Beau's head and says, "Do you still want this, now that you understand?" She feels Beau stop moving entirely, takes a deep breath. "It's okay if it's too much, if you didn't know what you were asking."

Beau pulls back to look up, eyes still watery but expression resolute. "Yasha, I want it so bad I think my heart stopped." She's waiting when Yasha smiles and leans into kiss her, and yes. There it is. She's gotten through now, and Beau understands.

Beau looked at all of this and stepped into it, Yasha realizes anew. She'd thought that was true before, had assumed there would be a lull, that Beau needed her to wait a while longer. And that would have been just fine.

But there's no lull.

Beau is _ready_ and she is _here_ , wants Yasha to let her take her apart and know every piece.

Yasha shivers and closes her eyes, something raw and wild coursing through her like fire. She's going to be turned inside out, all of her darkest shadows on the outside. On purpose.

The Yasha who looked Beau in the eye and told her what she wanted two minutes ago feels very far away suddenly. This Yasha is falling - _she_ is falling, here, now - into the breathless dive she's been waiting to take for so long.

Beau looks up at her, reaches up a hand to touch Yasha's face. When Yasha looks at Beau, whatever she sees on her makes her breath catch. "Oh," Beau manages. "You need this. Now."

Yasha's heart is in her hands, and it's burning. "I'm yours," she says, and Beau's hand when she reaches to take her is soft and so, so steady.

"I've got you."


	2. But If You Need Me to Tell You More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One delivery of soft smut, as promised. Also fulfills day one of my homebrew advent prompt challenge, which was simply "angel."

When it starts there's no letter, no fireworks, no falling into bed in a rush of passion to learn familiar bodies in new ways.

It's just this: Yasha, here, straddling Beau's lap and watching her with half a sob in her soft smile as Beau's hands skim her collarbones, the tops of her shoulders, the insides of her arms.

They're on the floor just inside Beau's room and not on the bed, because with the bed comes the mirror and with the mirror comes distraction. Everything about them tonight is new and they refuse to miss a moment of it, and so Beau had taken Yasha's hands in hers and lowered herself down to the dark blue carpet, never once looking away as Yasha followed.

And now she's here, just like this, legs encasing Beau's thighs and resting for the moment between her knees as Beau drinks her in.

Now, it's starting.

Beau's thumbs are so soft under Yasha's eyes, her palms ghosting her jaw as her fingers alight in the hollows under her ears and tangle in her hair, still damp from the bath and smelling like the forest, like flowers, like everything Yasha.

"I would be happy," Beau murmurs, "if this was all there was." Yasha's hands have been resting at Beau's elbows, and now they slide gently upwards to her wrists as Yasha flushes just that little bit more and ducks her head so that her tangled hair covers part of her face. Beau doesn't chase, not even when Yasha's lips brush the veins under her palm.

"Me too." Her breath on Beau's pulse makes her skin prickle nearly to the elbow. "But it's not." The soft sound she makes when Beau curls her fingers to stroke her cheek is nearly enough to pull an answering one from her own throat.

Beau's other hand glides to rest with her fingers under Yasha's chin, and though she applies no pressure there, Yasha turns to regard her with a violet eye gone bright with something Beau doesn't dare name but halts her breath regardless. Beau swallows, eyes roaming over Yasha's face, her arm, the towel wrapped around her before coming back to that eye. "Tell me how take you apart." Beau hardly recognizes her own voice, low and rough and cracking with awe. "I want to do it right."

Yasha smiles at her, and there's a trace of overwhelm trembling behind the expression the way shadow hides behind light to make it brighter. "Just come closer," she whispers, and she leans forward to press her lips to Beau's for what feels like the first time. The sensation that roils within Beau is a warm, slow rendition of every battle-traded grin, every thrill of feeling seen, every moment they've stumbled over their words in the presence of the other, and it reverberates through Beau, body and soul. This kiss is a resolution, a beginning, and it carries within it kind of inevitability that challenges Beau's deepest and most fundamental mistrust of destiny. If this is fated, so be it. 

Yasha is still holding Beau's hands to her own face, and the soft sigh she gives when Beau drifts her fingertips over her cheekbones and meets her kiss sets her stomach alive with bright sparks that drift lazily upward to her throat. Yasha's weight rolls forward so that she's slightly up on her knees as her arms slide to Beau's shoulders, and her eyes when they open again are damp. 

It almost doesn't seem real, the fact of being here with Yasha - of _being_ Yasha's - and when Beau voices this to her, there's a hint of a sob in Yasha's quiet, incredulous laugh. "I never thought I could even want this," she says. She draws one of her arms from around Beau to push a strand of her hair behind her ear before cupping her face. "But I do want it. I want all of it - I want _you_ , Beau." The taste of a single tear when their lips meet again has Beau's own throat working against the knot that appears.

Yasha is crying, Beau thinks. Not from grief, as she has only cried since Beau has known her, not from loss or helplessness or anger. Yasha's crying, and it's from joy. It's from _Beau_ , and somehow in this moment they're the same. 

She catches Yasha's other tear on the pad of her thumb when they pull away, holds it between them. "I'm right here."

There's no doubt in her mind that they'll be her tears, next time, and Yasha to catch them. But there's no more room for them now, not with Yasha's thumb sliding under the fold of her towel to release it. "Show me." 

What does a shitkicker monk from nowhere do with an angel in her hands except what she's asked?

The towel falls away at first touch and Beau lifts it from Yasha's waist with infinite slowness to watch her shiver as it drags across her skin. Finally, there is only them.

It doesn't matter that they were in the bath together less than thirty minutes ago. It doesn't matter that they've looked at each other, even that they've flirted the slightest bit. Nothing about those moments could have hinted at anything approaching the true scale of what it is to have Yasha here like this - to be here for Yasha like this.

Beau's fingers shake almost imperceptibly as she draws them up to Yasha's shoulders again, this time drifting her touches down Yasha's marble-white chest instead of over her arms. Beau doesn't watch her hands, and she doesn't stare in open adoration at the muscles and the flex of Yasha under her touch. Her eyes stay on Yasha's face, using her fluttering eyelids and her shaky breathing to guide her movements. She can't forget how fragile this is, not for a moment can Beau look away from the miracle that is Yasha on the razor's edge of sensation - a body remembering what it is to be so eagerly stripped of defenses. Beau will not rush this feeling, the sense of complete devotion pouring through her right now in response to the breathless trust Yasha's given her.

If arousal is for Yasha anything like happiness or contentment or joy, it will be a complicated thing to balance. With this in mind, Beau brushes her nose across the pulse at the base of Yasha's throat before chasing it with a reverent kiss, keeps her hands slow and lets her breath ghost over the spots on Yasha she wants to press her lips. The little helpless noises Yasha's making before Beau's hands have even dropped below her waist are so _much_ that Beau's not aware she's responding in kind until she has to pause and rest her head on Yasha's shoulder while they both breathe.

The soft and muscled arms holding onto Beau are trembling the slightest amount when Beau's hands come to rest on Yasha's waist. Beau tilts her head up to nestle under Yasha's ear as the thumb of one hand dips inside of her thigh to run softly over the curls there. "I've got you," Beau reminds her. "It's alright."

There will be time, Beau knows, for hot mouths on flushed skin and desperate grips amid low growls. Beau knows that for every moment she wants to be at Yasha's mercy, Yasha wants three to put her there and keep her.

But this isn't that, not yet. Not the first time. Careless tangles of limbs and falling skin onto skin is familiar, if not with each other, and Yasha's tiny, harsh gasp at the first touch of Beau's fingertip to her warm and dripping center is so breathlessly _new_. 

Yasha's eyes open and she looks lost, her fingers pressed to Beau's shoulder blades like the feel of Beau's skin is the only thing grounding her to this plane. Beau spends several seconds here just sliding her finger gently along Yasha's slit without making a move to enter or touch the bundle of nerves she knows has to be swollen in anticipation. Yasha looks down between them to watch, and the faint noise her slick makes at Beau's touch is hypnotic. When she finally sinks her finger inside just past the first digit, Yasha rocks forward against her and hides her face in Beau's shoulder with a beautiful whine.

Beau pauses here, touches her head gently to Yasha's. "Let me see you." Yasha's fingers tense and release, and then she takes two deep, slow breaths. When she sits up, Beau smiles at her. "Okay?"

Yasha bites her lip and nods, and Beau can see the beautiful flush to her face starting to rise along her arms and her chest too. She looks down again at Beau's hand between them, face darkening further. "I can't hold on for long."

Beau's free hand has been resting on Yasha's hip; now it drifts up over Yasha's stomach and around her breast to rest behind her ear. "Why are you embarrassed?"

Yasha looks up in something like surprise and laughs, a broken and short little exhale as her walls clench around the finger half inside of her. Something seems to have melted from her with the question, and she presses her hips forward to take Beau deeper with a soft groan. "Not embarrassed," she manages. "Not with you."

Beau's smile threatens to crack again as Yasha's lips find hers, and when Beau slides inside of her to the knuckle she swallows the sound Yasha makes against her like it's air before they break apart. "I want to stay like this." Yasha's voice is a near whine as her hips roll slowly. "But I can't. I need you to touch me."

Beau mouth is dry with awe but she manages a smile. "Handy," she murmurs, brushing her lips once more against Yasha's. "Because I think I need to touch you."

Yasha has been coming apart for Beau from the moment Beau said she wanted this, but it doesn't fully register to her what that means until Yasha gasps in a way extremely familiar to Beau, shuddering as she rocks back and forth on the finger still inside of her. Her eyes find Beau's and hold them until they flutter shut, and in spite of the beautiful sounds she's gifted her thus far, Yasha is completely silent and still but for her walls spasming around Beau.

Beau wants to make a comment about Yasha coming before she's even touched her clit, because it's blowing her mind a little right now. Yasha wants this so much - wants _her_ so much - that the very promise of Beau touching her is enough.

And then come the wings. 

They snap open soundlessly from Yasha's back, radiant, prismatic feathers scattered throughout light so bright that it should hurt to look at. But it doesn't hurt. There's only softness, a feeling somewhere inside of Beau like she's floating just to see the jagged rainbows twisting and rippling along the walls, the floor, the ceiling high above them.

It's _everything_ , Yasha is _everything_ , and when Beau finds her eyes to tell her she finds them alive with light too, bright rings of sea green and violet.

With those eyes lit from the inside like this, Beau could fall forever.

"Yasha," she whispers. There's no trace of her voice in the sound, but when Yasha's breath releases and the tension melts from those rigid muscles, her head drops and she pushes hard against Beau in response. She stays there, a boneless heap in Beau's arms, and she just breathes.

Beau wraps an arm under Yasha's ribs to hold her closer and reaches a trembling hand to brush the feathers of the wings. She's startled to find substance - she doesn't know how to categorize the sensation under her fingers, but there definitely is one. It's almost like shaped, inert air she decides after a moment, and she pushes her hand completely into the light to watch in awe as the feathers bend and throw patterns along the walls in response.

Yasha's whole body shudders and the wings with her. "Keep doing that," she rasps into Beau's ear. "It's like you're touching inside of me."

Beau adjusts her grip, slides her fingers in between the feathers at Yasha's shoulder and kisses Yasha's sweaty temple when she makes a guttural sound and arches. "What does it feel like?"

Yasha's back bows harder into Beau's touch as she gasps. "It feels…like I'm praying."

They're going to fade any moment now, and Beau adjusts her grip as best she can amid the ghostly sensation and pulls gently. Yasha's fingers dig in against Beau's spine and drag hard enough to leave marks Beau will be very pleased to look at tomorrow, and then she goes immediately limp in Beau's arms as the wings dissolve and leave Beau grasping at truly nothing.

The wings have gone, but some of the light remains in Yasha's eyes as Beau shifts her grip so that she can press their foreheads together. "Are you okay?"

Yasha's chest heaves with the deep breaths she takes as the ethereal light continues to dim, and only after the panting fades does she reply. "I think so," she says, and her eyes when they meet Beau's are searching. "Gods, how do you do that?" Beau hardly has time to look puzzled before Yasha's hand grips her shoulder to pull her into what might just be the greatest hug Beau's ever had. 

Beau catches up after a startled second and squeezes back, nuzzling her cheek on Yasha's. "How do I do what?"

Yasha's voice is soft with wonder. "You bring out the light in me."

Beau feels the world tilt slightly in surprise, and her hands where they're stroking the space where Yasha's wings had been stutter a moment before continuing. "I don't think I did anything special," she says, a little mystified. "You've always looked like that to me, Yash."

A deep breath in her ear, thoughtful but steady. "I'm starting to understand that." Yasha holds Beau a little tighter, nestles a little closer. "It's just that I had accepted it, giving you all of my darkness even if it's hard."

Beau traces the shimmering tattoo along Yasha's arm, drifts her fingers back up to Yasha's ear. "You're made of it, you know," she says. "The light. Not just the wings…it's everything. I look at you, and it's just light all the way down."

Yasha lets go just enough to bring her hand to rest gently between them on the puckered scar running the length of Beau's sternum. For once Beau doesn't get the feeling that it hurts Yasha to look at, but there's still a kind of sad reverence to the kiss she ducks to press at the very top of it, just between Beau's breasts. "It wasn't always," Yasha says. "But I like seeing myself the way you do. Thank you."

Beau takes the opportunity to kiss the top of Yasha's lowered head in response. "Stick around," she says, resting her cheek on Yasha's hair. "We haven't even gotten to the mirror yet."

Yasha hums agreeably as her hand slides from the scar to frame one of Beau's small breasts. "Oh we will." Beau inhales sharply as Yasha's thumb traces idly over her nipple, and just like that the tension of the room shifts. Just like that, Beau's gone from holder to held, and she's not sure she can find the exact instant it happened. 

It makes her a little dizzy, and the single second she spares to try and comprehend the consequences of Yasha's implication - how it's going to _feel_ to see herself cracked open - is enough to make her ribs feel tight. "Okay." Beau's voice comes out a little squeaky. "But in the interest of transparency, I don't have any cool tricks." She clears her throat as Yasha shifts to sit up. "Just ah. Putting that out there."

The mischief in the smile Yasha gives her makes Beau's pulse speed up. "That," Yasha says as she leans to close the space between them, "is very much a matter of opinion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I do have most of a draft for the scene implied here. But there's also a reason I haven't finished it, and for now I don't have much in the way of plans to do so. This stands pretty neatly the way it is.
> 
> ...but you never know.


End file.
